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Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Today is the last day of the A to Z Challenge. This year's challenge was really laced with ZING! Zing means a lively, zestful quality; zest, vigor, animation, force, vitality, etc. Every blogsite I visited had zing.

When I read the definition, I wondered about other things in my life that have ZING so I made a list and thought I'd share with you.

Monday, April 29, 2013

Last year for the A to Z Challenge, Y stood for Yukon, Oklahoma. I blogged about the little town and I'll take the opportunity to blog about it again. After all, we've lived here a year now.

Yukon has been a great place for us. It's small. We can be anywhere in five or ten minutes. We can see Oklahoma City from our apartment complex. I posted last year that Dale Robertson lived here when in fact, he didn't. He did once. Maybe his family still owns land here--I don't know. Our senior citizen center is named after him and his picture is in our library. A few weeks ago, Dale passed away in California. I've spent a year hoping to spot him in grocery stores, coffee shops, libraries when all the time he's been in California.

I remember watching Wells Fargo with my dad. Rest in peace, Dale.

I drive up and down Garth Brooks Blvd to shop at Hastings, Target and WalMart and go to Jimmy's Egg. On Tuesdays, I drive into Mustang (about five minutes away) and meet a friend at the library. We write from 9 am to 2 pm. We take our lunch and sit in the foyer at a table to eat and visit. I wrote my novella at the Mustang Library. I just received the galleys to proof; you can see my cover at the right. The Mustang Library has great writing vibes.

We attend a wonderful church in Yukon. Discovery Church is the friendliest I've ever attended. Love and laughter oozes from its members. We visited two other churches before we settled there. Sad that one has to shop around for a church--a good fit. Discovery is the only church I've ever attended that I felt people truly liked and cared about us--and not just on Sunday. If I ended up in the hospital, I know without a doubt, people would be praying for me and coming to see me. I've never had the comfort of that thought.

Yukon will be a sweet memory when we move back to Louisiana in June. While we're looking forward to being near our daughter again, being in our home instead of an apartment, Louisiana will be like starting over--searching for a church, getting used to the oppressive weather, settling in ... trying to fit in--once again.

We've moved a number of times in our married life. Yukon became home fast, and we'll miss it.

How often have you moved in your life? Any place you'd like to go back to or regret leaving? How do places you've lived play into your writing?

Saturday, April 27, 2013

While browsing through the dictionary trying to figure out what to write about, I came across the word xerophilous which means capable of thriving in a hot, dry climate. Xerophilous pertains to plants and animals, but it reminded me of my mother. She was always hot. We didn't have central air in our little four room house (2 bedrooms, a living room and a small kitchen. Do we count the bathroom as a real room?) We had window units and they were powerful. I stayed bundled up while Mom sat in a sleeveless house dress.
Of course, by the time I started getting hot, she had the heat blasting during the summer because she was cold.

Funny how we daughters swap places with our mothers. Or become more like them. The other day I told Mom that every time I looked in the mirror, she stared back at me. She thought that was hilarious! She always liked to laugh ... still does.

Did your family play practical jokes? Get tickled in church or the library? Share something super-funny that you remember about your family.

Friday, April 26, 2013

When I signed up for A to Z Challenge this year, I had no
idea what I wanted to write about. I planned to wing it—the way I did last
year. But as soon as I sat down to write that first post, my theme became apparent: I'd write about my childhood and my family. I’ve
had fun blogging about my loved ones, but I’m ready to move on and
talk about writing again. Family Time is growing old and boring for me. And I’m
beginning to repeat myself. I don’t like repetition!

So W is for Writing. This is what I’ve been doing alongside A to Z.

I wrote a
short story specifically for Woman’s World. This time I got off my ‘duff’ and
put it in the mail. I’m waiting … waiting … waiting … just like in the old
days. Complete with SASE.Woman’s World
doesn’t take email submissions.

I’m also working on a pitch to a Harlequin editor on May 8th.
This will be sort of like speed dating: I pitch in 100 words or less and they tell me immediately whether they want to see a synopsis, a proposal or the complete novel. I really like this idea. This is the instant gratification thingie working. I’m pretty nervous about it, even though I have the pitch ready. I've been
working on the first three chapters of the manuscript just in case the editor
requests it. It’s a straight inspirational romance—no mystery or suspense. And
I still have to write the synopsis. Arrghh!

My mind is working constantly on other things—revising, re-plotting,
wondering if anything is any good. There’s so much I want to revamp. I don’t
want to give up on any of my stories—even when I know I should move
on to something fresh.

My novella came to me so easily. I wish all my stories came that fast—that complete. They don’t. I struggle.

Tell me about your writing. Do you have anything with an
agent or editor? Or do you plan to ePub? Do you like today’s publishing world
and how things have changed? Tell us about it.

Here's a market for you just in case you don't have anything to do:

FamilyCircle Magazine is now accepting submissions for their 2013 Fiction Contest. Submit your previously unpublished short story of no more than 2,500 words by September 16, 2013. There is no fee to enter and you could win the grand prize of $1,000 and publication in the magazine, plus other prizes. For all the details go here.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

V is
Victory, Victorious. Normally when I hear the word Victory
I burst into song. Really! Just ask my husband and daughter.

O victory in Jesus,
My Savior, forever.
He sought me and bought me
With His redeeming blood;
He loved me ere I knew Him
And all my love is due Him,
He plunged me to victory,
Beneath thecleansing flood.

I love the old hymns—we rarely sing
them anymore and I miss them.

We had a
victorious trip yesterday. I drove the entire ten hours. I normally do. Hubby
can read and nap in a moving vehicle; I can’t because I’ll get car sick, so I
drive…and plot. At one point, I heard him talking. I replied, “Say
that again, I wasn’t listening—I was blogging.” He gets nervous when I’m
lost in writing thoughts while driving.

After six
hours on the road, we stopped off to visit my mom. I’m always filled with dread
at how she might respond, how she’ll look. Where her mind might be. Another
victory! She was alert, smiling and had quick come-backs to our teasing. She
enjoyed talking about the past since that’s all she can remember, but even the
past is a little hazy. She commented that she sewed a lot for me when I was a kid, made all my
clothes. She did. I had “Mom Originals” with shoes to match. Remember, she was
a perfectionist. I was often written up in our school newspaper because of what
I wore: “Jessica looked like the breath
of spring in her yellow dress with the tiny blue and pink flowers. The yellow
t-strap sandals were the perfect accessory.” Or something of the sort.

I asked Mom if
she remembered making a bird costume for me, sewing feathers to material. I was
glad I had a picture on my iPhone to jog her memory. When I went through her home, I
was able to snap pics of other pics so I could email them to myself. I'm second from the right.

Mom also
talked about how she used to sit in the car waiting for me to get finished with
my piano lessons. Her memory is a little distorted there. Mom never waited on
much of anything. She was the original
multi-tasker and always wanted to accomplish several things at once. While I struggled with chords and Mrs. Brown the piano teacher, Mom was at the grocery
store, or drug store, or running errands for a friend--or all three! I was the one who sat at
the curb waiting when my lesson was over.

When we got to Louisiana, we were blessed by a visit from our
daughter bearing a mother’s day gift, and we stayed up late talking. I slept until
8:00 a.m. this morning! Sure felt good. We’ll head back to see Mom on Saturday
for another walk down memory lane.

What did you
do when you were a kid? Take dancing or piano lessons? Play basketball, football
or baseball? Write poems or your first novel? How were your parents involved in your young life and activities?

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

A quick post today since hubby and I are taking our
monthly 10-hour drive to Louisiana. We’ll leave at 6 a.m., stop off for a
couple of hours to see my mom, and on our return trip spend the night for a
longer visit with her. So forgive me if this post isn’t quite up to par. U stumped me.

But, two incidences came to mind so I thought I’d
write about them.

What do you
think of when you hear the word unsolicited?
If you’re a writer, you probably think of unsolicited manuscripts and how many
agents and editors don’t allow them. Or you might think of unsolicited advice. I’m sure we all receive some now and then. I
remember some unsolicited advice that made me proud.

Years ago,
my dad had an old red truck. I have no idea what make or model, I just remember
it was old and on its last spark plug, so to speak.Dad put an ad in the classifieds; he wanted
to sell it. My hometown is the home of LeTourneau College, now known as LeTourneau
University. LETU is a private, interdenominational Christian university with flagship
programs in engineering, aeronautical science, education and business. If
anyone is interested, check it out.

Anyway, LeTourneau boys usually
didn’t have vehicles. They didn’t have much money either and they always craved
home-cooked meals. They came from all over the country, even outside the country
to get their degrees, and they came in droves to our churches. The girls went
wild over them. I remember looking at the back of our church and cute
LeTourneau boys took up two or three pews. (I was too young for a college boy.)

One day, one of them came to
our house to look at my dad’s old truck. They did the usual thing—drove it,
kicked the tires, looked under the hood, then stood around and talked awhile. Then
my dad asked, “Why do you want this old thing?” The young man answered that he
wanted to drive it home—to Ohio.

“Son, this old truck won’t get
you to Ohio. You probably won’t make it out of Texas.” My dad refused to sell him the truck. (Back
then you could get away with those things; probably not today. You'd get sued.)

A similar thing happened a few
years ago when my husband and I were selling a Dodge Caravan. A man came to the
door with cash for the vehicle and hubby explained about transferring the title
and advised the man about getting insurance. Our potential buyer said, “I’m not
getting insurance.” Guess what—hubby refused to sell him the vehicle.

I was proud of my dad because
he looked out for another family’s son. Dad was a good man and he followed The Golden Rule. I was proud
of my husband for refusing to sell to an uninsured driver. Hubby's a good man too. Sometimes
those giving unsolicited advice really are looking out for our best interest.

Can you remember a time when
someone gave you unsolicited advice but you didn’t take it and regretted it?
Boy, I can!

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Time passes so
quickly. Sometimes all we’re left with are our memories. I’ve enjoyed this A to
Z Challenge because I’ve gone back in time to take another look. While looking
back, I’ve wanted to ask my parents, my grandparents specific questions. Too
late now. Sure makes me wish I’d kept a journal all my life. I always tried but
had no follow-through when it came to journaling. Tape recorders were another
matter.

When I was younger,
early teens, I think, my most prized possession was a reel to reel tape
recorder. I took phrases from records and created advertisements, skits and
interviews. I spent hours in my bedroom, creating.That huge, heavy green tape recorder was the
most wonderful Christmas present I’d ever received. And it cost a hundred
dollars. At least that’s what my parents told me. I was amazed they would spend
that much money on me. I wish I could remember if I asked for it or if they saw
it and knew I’d love it. At any rate, eventually, I wore it out and we gave it
to ‘the twins’ because they “worked” on things and said they could fix it.
Remember the twins from I is for Iva? I never saw that tape recorder again. Today,
I have several: three small digital and a couple of cassette ones so yeah, I
still have a thing for tape recorders.

Once I recorded my
Arkansas grandfather telling his “life” story. He loved to talk and didn’t mind
speaking into the microphone. Oddly, I have no pictures of me with my
grandparents. That makes me sad—to have pictures of them but not with them.

When I was small,
we didn’t travel to grandparent’s homes to celebrate Christmas. My dad’s family
lived right across the pasture from us; my mother’s parent’s lived in Arkansas.
We visited them once a year—twice at the very most. When my husband and I moved
to Louisiana, we made certain our kids saw their grandparents no less than once
a month and all holidays. We wanted
them to know their grandparents well, have relationships with them, and have
their own memories.

Do you have fond
memories of grandparents or did time and distance keep you away from them? If
they’re still alive, take the time to talk with them, record their stories, and
take pictures.

Monday, April 22, 2013

I come from a long line of preachers. I didn't realize how long until I joined ancestry.com.

My mother's dad was a Baptist preacher. That's probably why she's such a scrapper. They say there's no one more rebellious than a preacher's kid. Here's a picture of my grandfather when he was ordained. See how he's looking upward? He was very dramatic--guess that's where I get my drama. I wonder what my grandma was thinking.
My parents were very moral, hard-working people. I don't know that I'd call them godly people--to me, godly, means Christ-like, and I've never known anyone who was Christ-like. As I said in a previous post, my dad was ridiculed for being quiet and shy. My mother was bullied because she had bright red hair and a lot of freckles. She told me because her eyebrows and lashes were very light, kids called her pig-eyes. My mother was tough--she could take it, but the words did their damage. She never forgot them. She was in her late 60s when she went to an esthetician for permanent make-up, her eyes lined and her lips more defined.

Sad how we can never let go of those things that wound us.
Wouldn't life be simple if we could all live by the Golden Rule and treat others the way we want to be treated.

Matthew 7:12

12 So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets. (NIV)

Do you know The Ten Commandments? Can you list each commandment? Living them would certainly simplify life on this earth.

The Ten Commandments(Exodus 20:2-17 NKJV)

1

“I am the Lord your God, who brought
you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. You shall have no
other gods before Me.

2

“You shall not make for yourself a
carved image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is
in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall not
bow down to them nor serve them. For I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God,
visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and fourth
generations of those who hate Me, but showing mercy to thousands, to those
who love Me and keep My Commandments.

3

“You shall not take the name of the
Lord your God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who takes His
name in vain.

4

“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it
holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is
the Sabbath of the Lord your God. In it you shall do no work: you, nor your
son, nor your daughter, nor your male servant, nor your female servant, nor
your cattle, nor your stranger who is within your gates. For in six days the
Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and
rested the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and
hallowed it.

5

“Honor your father and your mother,
that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God is giving
you.

6

“You shall not murder.

7

“You shall not commit adultery.

8

“You shall not steal.

9

“You shall not bear false witness
against your neighbor.

10

“You shall not covet your neighbor's
house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, nor his male servant, nor
his female servant, nor his ox, nor his donkey, nor anything that is your
neighbor's.”Do you have a favorite scripture? Can you quote your mom or dad's favorite scripture? Or do you have one you quote when you're happy, sad, afraid or before you sit down to write? Share.

Saturday, April 20, 2013

I’ve learned a lot during this A to Z
Challenge—and believe me, it has been
a challenge. Writing about my family has taught me how to pick through memory
clutter and mold experiences (sometimes unpleasant ones) into entertaining,
colorful stories. As a result, I’ve realized my childhood memories weren’t as
unpleasant as I’d originally thought; they were just a little distorted. Or am
I distorting them now?

I’ve
sat in Sunday school classes and listened to other women rave about their Betty
Crocker moms and their Father Knows Best dads, and I’ve wondered if they were
telling the truth. One shouldn’t sit in church and wonder if their friends are
lying, should they? But everyone’s parents seemed very different from mine.

My
mother never gave me cooking lessons, or turned the kitchen over to me. When I
took Home Economics and tried to make a dress, we often came to blows over her
sewing machine.Our home became a war
zone each night when I tackled homework. I couldn’t learn under Mom because she
didn’t have the patience to teach. My passive dad wasn’t forceful
enough to instruct.

My parents were strict way beyond fairness—at least
Mom was, and Dad always backed her up. They were quick to dole out punishment,
and very lacking when it came to encouragement. I was never told “You can do
and be anything you set your mind to.” Were you? I know it depends on when you
were born. Anyone born after the 60s probably had it sweet.

My
parents didn’t know how to give encouragement because they’d never received it
themselves. Mom was the oldest of ten kids. She didn’t have time for dreams,
unless it was when she climbed that tree to read her books. Her family thought
she was odd, persnickety, and wondered where she got the “perfection gene.” My
dad was somewhere in the middle of thirteen kids. He was quiet, incredibly shy
and his family made fun of him because he didn’t talk much—if at all.He didn’t talk when I knew him either. If
I had to choose a parent’s head to live in for a week, I’d choose my dad’s. He was a mystery.

My previous post was about family quotes, but
I left out the most important one: You’re in for a rude awakening. I
heard that a lot, and can't tell you how often it flashes through my mind. Anytime I failed a test, got in trouble at school, asked for
something outlandish … I heard, “You’re in for a rude awakening” with a long
spiel about how life isn’t anything like we think it’s going to be.

And
it isn’t. Sometimes it's better; sometimes it's worse, but it's never like we think it's going to be. That's a given.

When I visit
my mom in the nursing home, I marvel at the “child” she has become—a small
white-haired woman waiting for someone to tell her what to do, how to do it, and when. Well, actually, we can't tell her when to do something because she won't remember. She lives in the very immediate now. We often explain how to turn on the TV for the hundredth time during a day . Her faded blue eyes are
like question marks—so unlike the confident, sometimes hard and angry ones I
remember; the ones that sent silent messages to me and my brother when we were
growing up. Her eyes could strike fear in us and make promises of what awaited us when we got home.Patience has been forced on
her—along with a lot more.

You’re in for a rude awakening, she’d tell me. And when I visit her
in the nursing home, realize I miss the woman she was, I know Mom was right. My rude awakening has finally come. Share something that breaks your heart.

Friday, April 19, 2013

As you know, I love quotes and post them on my blog
often. What you don’t know—and might think a little odd—is that I collect quotes
and funny stories from the lips of my family. I wish I had my little notebook of
family quotes but since my dad’s death and my mom going into a nursing home, I’ve
been a little lax with organized recording. Now I jot things down on slips of
paper that float around my purse and eventually get lost.

But I have some favorite tales I want to share:

Once my entire family went to the cemetery to
put Christmas flowers on my grandparent’s graves. My mother was always very dedicated
about doing that and she’d shop for hours to find just the right ornament. On
this occasion, she’d selected white crosses. Because the earth was so hard, she’d
brought a hammer to pound each cross into the ground. Now, you’d have to know
my mom: she’s a perfectionist—a fine-tuner. Once she gets something ‘finished’
she inspects everything around it—regardless of what it is—then fine-tunes her
own project one last time. This time when she finished arranging flowers and
cleaning up other gravesites, she came back to the white cross, hit it with the
hammer and broke it.

“You just had to hit it one more time, didn’t you?” said
my dad.

All of us broke into uncontrollable laughter because
he’d nailed it with his comment. She was and always had been the hit it one more time mama. She used to
go over my homework papers—crossing my Ts and closing the circles of my Os, Bs,
Ps and making my periods a little darker. Hitting my paper one more time.

Yes, it drove me crazy.

The quote, “Just had to hit it one more time,” is a
favorite and we use it often when one of us tries to over-do.

Of course, my mom has several quotes she uses
consistently: She’s fond of saying, Ignorance
gone to seed, Nuts gone to seed, There’s nothing crazier than people, and
Can’t get away from those genes.

She loved telling everyone that if my brother said, “Let’s hang Mama,” my dad would go get a
rope.

My young nephews were always fun to listen to. Once,
a young Russell (the one in the red cap)climbed into the car after a grocery shopping trip. He was so
glad to be going home after spending an hour in the food store that he was
jumping up and down, and running across the back seat while the young sacker
helped my mother with groceries. The sacker asked Russell, “Do you need to go to
the bathroom?” to which my nephew responded, “No, why, do you smell something?”

A hilarious exchange and I think of it
often, especially when someone asks if we need a bathroom. I suspect the young sacker called himself reprimanding Russell, but I
love Russell’s quick, naïve reply.

One summer day, while the cable TV man was adjusting
my dad’s television, my nephew Kyle (white cap) charged through the front door yelling, “We
found a dead skunk back in the woods. You want to go smell him?” Needless to
say, the cable guy declined.

My daughter (purple sweatshirt) was sitting in the back seat while I drove one day. Daughter was always a chatty little
girl—asking questions and often supplying her own answers. On this day, I was
telling her how her dad and I had prayed for a healthy little girl and that God
had blessed us with her.

She replied, “Good. I always wondered who my family
would be.” Yikes!

I’m sure you have favorite quotes and quirky sayings
and stories from your family too. Want to share some of them?

Thursday, April 18, 2013

“Hi
my name is ___ and I’m working toward a thousand dollar scholarship for nurses
training. You do like nurses, don’t you? ‘Cause I sure need your help. If I get
enough points, I’m eligible for the scholarship. You see … if you order this
periodical, I’ll get ten points, and this one is twenty … No not magazines!
Periodicals.”

Have you ever seen the advertisement in the newspaper
that states: Make money. Travel southern states, Drive late model car. No
experience necessary. Parents welcome at interview.

Don’t answer that ad.

In the late 60s, having graduated from high school
and dropped out of college after a couple of semesters, I moved to Little Rock,
Arkansas to live with an aunt. I couldn’t find a job anywhere. No experience,
no work. You’ve probably heard that line.

So when I saw the ad in the paper that touted No Experience
Necessary, I was determined to get that job—even though the ad didn’t say what the
job was all about.

I met a woman at a motel for the interview—maybe that
should have been the first red flag. She was blonde, very attractive and said
they were pulling out of Little Rock immediately. If I wanted the job, I had thirty
minutes to pack and leave with them. Second red flag—the rush job.

What would I be doing? Working in periodicals. In my
mind working in periodicals translated
to working in publishing. Naïve me.

I accepted the job and for the next several months,
I travelled from state to state with a magazine crew, spouted the spiel above
about scholarships and nursing school, and verbally tackled any moving object
that looked like he had a wallet of money.

Basically, I was a liar for hire.

Working for a magazine crew was an interesting (and
scary) experience. There were young people from all over the country who signed
on—for one reason or another. Many of the guys were handicapped in some way:
one was in a brace from the waist down, and another had an artificial leg. One
was running from the law. He was with us for a short while until he made off
with some of the funds. They caught him in New Orleans with our car—no money.

We picked up another girl in Little Rock right after
I signed on. She cried day and night. Her mom had attended the interview,
talked with Fran who was in charge of the girl’s crew, and she still sent her daughter with us. Eileen
said her military father thought the job might help her grow up. I always
thought there was more to it than that. But, we couldn’t handle Eileen’s constant
crying to go home so after awhile, Fran put her on a bus back to Little Rock. Normally, once a young person signs on with a crew, they aren't allowed to leave.

I hung in there and tried to make the best of it. Every morning we’d hop in the car
with our driver and head out. Every evening we’d meet at a designated motel,
turn our money over to Fran and Alex (in charge of the guys), have a business
meeting and then retreat to our room.

We had a quota. We had to sell a certain amount of
periodicals each day. The first time I didn’t make my quota, they left me out until
after dark, walking the streets until I did. After that, I’d buy a magazine
myself and send it to my dad if I came up short. I wasn’t above begging a
customer to buy one so I wouldn’t have to stay out on the streets. The crew of
guys usually hit downtown businesses. The girls hit anything that breathed, from
one town to the next.

There were rules we had to follow. Mainly, we were
forbidden to be negative. No phone calls home because talking with family would
make us homesick and that’s negative. And we had to make our quota. I can’t
remember what our quota was but if we consistently didn’t make it, we had to
practice our sales spiel (the one above) with the entire group and get a
critique. We requested money for food daily, and Fran kept talley of what we
spent.

We ate in small cafés and truck stops. I lived on
chicken fried steak.

When Christmas came around, the crew was expected to
go home with Fran to spend the holidays together. That would insure that we all
made it back on the road. Not me. I had a plan. They dropped me off in Longview
with instructions that they would swing back by and pick me up on January 2nd.
I let them believe it. When Fran called to arrange our meeting place, I told
her I wouldn’t be returning. She wasn’t happy with me.

Magazine crews are still around today. If you'd like to learn more about them, or know someone who needs help because of a magazine crew, check out this site. I’ve
researched and some of them sound a lot rougher than the one I worked for out of
Jackson, Mississippi. Just the other day, a young man knocked on our apartment
door and told us he was working for points. I always feel a little sad for
these kids—even though, the new crews don’t seem to use ‘kids’ to sell their
periodicals. I’ve spotted all ages.

When Fran and Alex came back through Longview one
year, a friend called me and I met her at the motel where they stayed. I was
able to visit for just a brief time until Fran got wind of me and asked me to
leave. After all, a visit with me—a former crew member—could be a very negative thing.

I’ve been plotting a YA mystery series about a young
woman who works for a magazine crew. What do you think? Have you had any experience with magazine crews or their sales people? Share.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

A year ago we moved to Oklahoma. Sure doesn’t feel like we’ve
been here that long—until we make the 10-hour trek to Louisiana... or have to
huddle in a closet because the tornado alert is squealing. Today, we’re
expecting horrific storms. Yeah, I’m scared!

Other than that, Oklahoma is an interesting place to live.
Lots of history and writers are plentiful. Sometimes I regret not being a
better history student so I can enjoy (and retain) everything I see and read
in the museums. I tend to get overwhelmed.
To me, history is a lot like math. The dots have to be connected. There are so
many pieces … how can one ever have the whole story?

I have a great-great grandmother buried in Guthrie, Oklahoma.
Here’s the only picture I have of her. She's the older woman. I figure the younger is a granddaughter but I'm just guessing. Would you say gr-gr-grandma is Native American from
this picture? According to records, she was born in Tennessee in 1842.

Supposedly,
Hannah Minerva Guinn married my gr-gr grandfather John McGinty in 1872 in
Conway, Arkansas. Their son, Robert Jefferson McGinty, my gr-grandfather,
lived in North Louisiana until his murder. My grandfather (at left) was five-years-old when his dad was killed by a man named Joe Mathews. My grandfather
told me he could remember seeing his dad’s body stretched out on Mathews’ porch.
That’s something for a child to remember all his life.

There were two stories about the
death of R.J.One was that he was
playing around with the man’s wife. That seems unlikely because two of R.J.’s sons
were with him and witnessed his death. I have the court transcript with their
statements. The second story is that he was stealing chickens. Actually, Mr. Mathews owed my
gr-grandfather money and since the guy couldn’t or wouldn’t pay, he told R.J.
to take the chickens as payment. R.J. and his boys were there to collect.

During all this, Hannah Minerva Guinn lived in Arkansas and
was married to a man named Watkins by then. She was 63 and he was 59. Two grandsons lived
with them. Mr. Watkins died at age 70 and Hannah ended up in Guthrie, Oklahoma where she
is buried.

I suspect Hannah Minerva Guinn McGinty Watkins moved to Oklahoma to live with a daughter or
granddaughter, but see what I mean about the many pieces that make her story
whole. Oh, how I wish I could know the details! What kind of life did Hannah
have? Why can’t I find her grave or any record of her in Oklahoma? Do I have
other family members roaming around this state? Of course, I do! Even on my dad’s
side of the family. Above is a diagram of Native American migration. You can click on it to make it larger. Fascinating, isn’t it? And sad.

Do you write history? How do you approach it? Any desire to set a novel
in Oklahoma or research the state? I encourage you to spend time here if
you have the opportunity. It’s a wonderful place to explore.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Note: The A to Z Challenge is really a challenge for me this year and I'm behind reading your posts and leaving comments. I have a lot on my plate but that's no excuse. I'm sure you all do too. I hope to catch up in the next day or two. For readers not participating in the A to Z Challenge and don't understand it, you can learn more here and explore everything from A to Z. There are 1,758 bloggers participating in the A to Z Challenge. You may want to try it next year.

Today, I'm taking a look at being negative.

My dad was a quiet, shy, pessimistic/negative
person. Look at his picture at the right--you can tell by the way he's sitting that he's shy and uncomfortable being the center of attention.

I’ve been accused of being more negative than positive. I used to be more shy than I am now, and of course, since I love blogging, I must thrive on attention. Right?

As for the negative trait? I’m not sure I totally agree but we often
see ourselves the way we want to be—not
the way we really are.

I
admit I’m guilty of looking at what could happen if I did such ‘n such. I not only look at today
but I look at tomorrow, the next day and a week from now. Unfortunately that
affects my actions when I want to send my work to publishers or agents. I
over-analyze and try to visualize the outcome: If I submit ABC story to 123 Magazine, I might be making a
mistake. Would 456 Magazine be better? We’re supposed to choose the best
publisher, but I usually stall and send to no one. Is second-guessing akin to being negative? Yeah, somewhat.
Especially when we let imagined consequences keep us from doing anything.

Negative means: bad:
unhappy, discouraging, angry, or otherwise detracting from a happy situation; pessimistic:
or tending to have a pessimistic outlook.

Mmmm, is that really me? I've been told I'm a great encourager to others. I sure hope I'm not a drain on anyone's goals and dreams.

Honestly, I don’t think I’m negative,
but if I am ... I got it from my dad. And he inherited from his mom who ... well, that's as far as my personal experience goes when it comes to pinpointing.

I’m posting a few quotes from Brainy Quote about negativity. They really speak to me. I'm terrible about letting others influence me. If you read my work or hear my pitch and raise an eyebrow in my direction, you're watering my doubt and insecurity. It grows. Are you the same? I hope not. It's a miserable way to be.

GREAT QUOTES:

If you accept the expectations of others, especially negative ones, then
you never will change the outcome.~Michael Jordan

Which one speaks to you? Do you battle negativity? How? Looking back at family members, do you think your negativity was inherited or something you learned from a parent? Talk to me... and don't be negative!

Monday, April 15, 2013

I’ve always
loved reading letters. Two of my favorite books are the letters of poets Sylvia
Plath andAnne Sexton, so it wasn’t
unusual for me to read any letter I came across in our house whether it was
addressed to me or not. Okay, call me a snoop, I don’t care. It was fun. And I
learned a lot!

Oddly, my
father kept all the letters written to him when he was in the Navy.A few from his sisters, but most were from
girls who liked him. I read them all, over and over again. They were silly—not
really mushy, just silly. I think girls acted more like ladies back then so
maybe the correct word is … boring.

Loving letters,
why wouldn’t I read a letter addressed to my mom and postmarked from some small
town in Arkansas?It was from her BFF,
from her childhood, telling her a guy named Bob had burned up in a fire. He’d
been drinking and smoking. Reading on, I learned that BFF was Mom’s former
sister-in-law and that Bob had been her first
husband. What? My mother had a former life?I never dreamed the woman who popped my face when I poked my chin at her
would have anything before my dad.

Of course my
imagination went wild. Was I really
my dad’s daughter? After all, when Mom got mad at me she’d say, “You’re
just like your father!” Maybe that guy Bob was the father she meant. You know
how kids are. (In later years, I wrote to the BFF and asked if she had any pictures of my mom and of course, I'd like to see a pic of Bob too. She sent me some. How's that for a BFF?) Above you see mom and BFF in later years--still friends.

I asked my
mother about Bob and she gave me a little history but what I found interesting was
how she rode the bus from Arkansas to Texas, lived with an Aunt
and Uncle, registered for nursing school and recreated herself. And then my
father showed up—the handsome navy man. To hear her tell it, he wouldn’t leave her
alone; he was totally enamored and in love. Well, of course he was! Just look at that nursing picture (center girl) —who
wouldn’t be? Wasn’t she a beauty?

In Longview,
Texas back in the 40s, lives crisscrossed like crazy. Dad dated and went to
school with girls who later had kids in my classes. Odd to look at a girl I didn't especially like and know that her mom dated my dad. Yuk!

When Mom lived in the nursing school
dorms downtown, she used to walk across the street to a little fruit stand
to buy fresh fruit from a couple of very cute brothers. Guess who those
brothers were? My husband’s father and uncle. I can see how our lives could have been easily
changed—and I might not be me. Crazy, isn’t it, how things happen?

I think
marriage is a miracle. It’s a challenge for the best of couples. It’s difficult.
A lot of people still quip that ‘marriage is a state of mind.’ So if you're in the right frame of mind you can be/stay married? How's that work exactly?

The Merriam
Webster Dictionary defines marriage this way:1

a (1): the state of being united to a person of the opposite sex
as husband or wife in a consensual and contractual relationship recognized by
law (2): the state of being united to a person of the same sex in
a relationship like that of a traditional marriage marriage

Marriage is a lot
more than a cold-fact definition, or a state of mind, but I guess it’s up to each of us to determine what it is and
means to us. Scary, isn’t it, to think how we ‘live’ our marriage determines
how our kids view and live theirs.

Years ago,
while still in high school, my daughter made a funny observation. She said, “I
think it’s weird that parents spend so much time telling their kids to beware
of strangers, and then we meet a stranger, marry him, and live with him for the
rest of our life--and they're okay with that.”

True, isn’t it? And frightening, in a way. Because we never get to know our spouses until we live with
them--and sometimes it's too late.

When it comes right down to it—every day with our spouse should be a
great adventure—learning, discovering, loving and respecting, practicing the Golden Rule with them, and having fun. Shouldn’t it?

Friday, April 12, 2013

Cooking is a
complete mystery to me--not unlike writing. I don’t know any of the tricks. Sure I can cook a few
things really well, but I can’t say they always taste the same.I know I’m not the only one with that
problem. Years ago, I gave my mother-in-law a cake recipe; she made the cake
and accused me of leaving out a special ingredient because hers didn’t taste
like mine. Mine never tastes like my mom’s did either. No, it’s not
psychological.

After taking
some of my mother’s cake pans and a pancake griddle—ones Mom always used Crisco
and flour on/in, I learned the hard way that they don’t respond well to my
spray Pam. What’s up with that?

Mom baked
wonderful desserts. A family favorite was the Lemon Supreme Apricot Nectar
cake. Don’t be turned off. You can NOT taste the apricot nectar.The glaze was to die for—sweet and tart. The
first time she baked it, she told us she used a toothpick to jab holes in the cake
so the glaze would seep through the holes. Before long, we noticed she’d
graduated from toothpick to the end of the wooden spoon—with a double batch of
glaze. Yum!

So my L word
is for my favorite cake, and I’m sharing Mom’s recipe with you.

1 Duncan Hines Lemon Supreme cake mix

1 cup of Apricot Nectar

¾ cup of Crisco oil

½ cup sugar

4 eggs

Combine the cake mix, nectar, oil and sugar
together and mix well. Then add the four eggs. Mix again, thoroughly. Bake in a
tube pan or a Bundt pan at 325 degrees for one hour. Or test with toothpick.

Glaze: Mix 1
cup of powdered sugar and juice from one lemon. Stick holes in cake with
toothpick (or the end of a wooden spoon) and spread over cake while cake is hot.
You can control the tartness/sweetness
of the glaze –more lemon or more powdered sugar.

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CREATIVE LANDSLIDE

The books I receive are FREE and they are shipped by the publisher. As a CFBA reviewer, I am required to have an established blog with an active readership, a love for books and a desire to promote Christian fiction. I am permitted to post the standard CFBA post for the book without writing a personal review. Of course it is preferred that I have a personal opinion of the book in the post--sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. My reasons vary. Sometimes I don't like the book as much as I thought I would; other times I may not have received the book in time to read it. I'm always required to participate in the blog tour if I have committed to do so.